


Boars, Beasts, Dogs and Man

by LunaticClassic



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Freeform, Happy Ending, M/M, fraldaryddydyydd if you squint, offscreen death, slowish burn, spoilers for blue lion route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 15:06:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20932214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaticClassic/pseuds/LunaticClassic
Summary: "Glenn who is right even in death, urges Felix to brush off the lockbox in his chest and let himself feel again. So maybe Felix would not die for the sake of their prince. But he would fight at his side. This was a choice he made for himself; not because it was what his father would have wanted, not because it was the legacy his brother had left behind. It was because, though he could not voice it, deep down, Felix really did love Dimitri."





	Boars, Beasts, Dogs and Man

**Author's Note:**

> Written vignette style, no quotations for dialogue

Glenn said kisses are used to seal deals. Felix, who is five and doesn’t understand, nods anyways because he wants to seem older. 

It sounds about right, in the way that letters are sealed with hot wax and stamped with a cool metal emblem. Maybe he should send one to Sylvain. His writing is starting to look less like the lines drawn with the tip of a training sword against dirt, and more like the curling vines that creep by his bedroom window. 

His father promises to hand deliver Felix’s letter the next time he visits the Margrave. Felix presses the wax with their family crest, and hopes that Sylvain will write back soon. 

-x-

Glenn has hair that reminds Felix of the wavy fur on their hunting dogs ears. Soft and clipped right by his jaw. He tells him that while running his fingers through the short locks, liking the way it smelled crisp like pine and fresh sun warmed grass despite his brother’s constant training. 

He gets his cheek pinched for that, and Glenn gently but firmly told him, it’s not nice to call people beasts. 

Felix frowns. What was wrong with being loyal like a dog. They love you without stopping to think why. They’d jump between you and a bear if it meant keeping you safe. They’re warm to hold if they’d stay still long enough.

Glenn chews over that, before ducking down to lift Felix up on his shoulders, carrying his brother off while the weight around his neck giggled. Calloused hands grip his knees firmly, and Felix plunks his chin on top of his brother’s head, breathing in the smell of the forest. He doesn’t like horses much; they’re up way too high. But he likes the view from Glenn’s shoulders. It’s safe and he can feel the rumbling in his brother’s chest as he thinks over his words. 

There is nothing wrong, Glenn starts to say, with being a dog. Only, make sure that  _ you _ decide what’s worth fighting for. 

Felix nods, small fingers struggling to put a braid into Glenn’s hair, trying to copy a style he saw in a book about customs in the east. 

-x-

He is seven and Sylvain is ten. 

Double digits he said proudly while showing Felix the ring held round a gold chain on his neck. Sylvain, who is taller and was always bigger, slips the band onto his fingers, showing Felix that it just barely fits snugly against his thumb if he flexes the digit. 

Taking the cord off his neck, he pulls Felix’s hand towards him. Felix waits patiently as Sylvain slides the ring down each of his ten fingers, humming as they both watched the way the gold halo hung off his slim fingers. 

Putting the cord back around his neck, Sylvain nodded. Father said I should wait to put this on someone special.  _ For the good of our line. You must carry on the crest. _

Felix laughs while Sylvain uses a deep gruff voice and puffs out his chest to mock his father’s deliberate heavy words. 

That draws a smile, a real one, from Sylvain’s lips. Patting his chest, where the ring bounced against his skin, he speaks confidently. 

Let’s try again when we’re older. 

Felix, who still doesn’t understand, nods and wishes he was ten, with fingers that fit nicely against cold metal. 

-x-

There’s never enough light in their estate. The weather doesn’t permit it, and whoever designed the place didn’t account for how dark it would be behind fortressed stone walls. It made it easy for Felix to leave things scattered in his room without being scolded for leaving a mess. As long as no one saw it, it wasn’t a problem he figured. 

But that didn’t mean that he didn’t like the light. In fact, he sought it. Which was why he’s so drawn to the big bay window that took up an entire wall of the library. Like a moth to flame. Rather than sleep in his bed, he liked to drag a slew of furs onto the bench and peer out the glass and watch the stars winking at him. The window he liked. But the rest of the room, not so much. 

He hates the old knights tales that live in the thick tomes of the manor library. Tales of romance and valor that just sound like tragedy to him. He doesn’t know what was so great about dying and leaving behind the people who were waiting for you at home. Maybe being so loyal wasn’t that great after all. But he especially hated lines that read,  _ I’ll end your bloodline one way or another _ . 

It sounds like death, it sounds like the end. And Felix doesn’t like that. 

But Glenn, who is older and knows more than he does, put his hand on top of Felix’s head and ruffled his hair. 

There are more ways than one to end a bloodline Felix. 

-x-

The end is bad. It feels bad. 

There is no hand to ruffle his hair and impart the wisdom of an older brother.

Just a broken sword delivered in a rough pine box because they couldn’t find enough of Glenn to send back home. 

-x-

His father has hair that curls gently like waves lapping along the shore. It’s dark like twilight. It looks like Glenn’s. 

His reflection in the mirror shows straight hair, hanging like icicles around cheeks that are still ruddy with tears. He doesn’t look like Glenn. 

He ties his hair up so his father doesn’t have to see and remember that this is the wrong son. 

-x-

Who’s broken? 

Sylvain, Ingrid, Dimitri and Felix. 

Bruises that bloomed like roses on their skin just days ago die and turn a fading molten green against their skin. Bruises that sink into their bones and grip their ugly thorns into hearts that flutter quick like trapped birds. 

With the absence of Glenn, Sylvain was now the eldest in their group of little nobles. Though, Glenn always seemed just a peg out of reach. Ingrid and Dimitri had followed the young knight around with shining eyes. Which usually left Sylvain to deal with Felix, clinging to his sides. 

More than once had Sylvain shaken off his unwanted charge, and each time he’d done that, Felix looked hurt. But now, with no young knight to plod after, no finance, no brother- Sylvain resigned himself to being the master of warm embraces when the others allowed it. Just because he himself had no older brother to turn to when his chest felt like it was cracking apart didn’t mean the others had to suffer so. 

In that cold winter of Faerghus, four broken bodies huddled together to seek warmth and tried to feel whole. 

-x- 

Whenever Felix cried for too long, Glenn would lead him by the hand to the kitchens, kindly asking the scullery maids for a spoonful of honey. He’d coax his sniffling brother to look up from where he was hiding his eyes in his sleeves, smiling when he managed to see the sunset eyes that they both shared.

He’d wait for Felix to stop hiccuping before offering the treat, wiping away his tears until Felix clicked his teeth around the silver spoon and his sobs died down. 

A secret between you and me, alright? Glenn used to say. Since they both knew that their father wasn’t fond of how  _ affected _ Felix was by his emotions. Restraint was rewarded by their father, but ardor was what Glenn loved the most. When Glenn wasn’t under his predecessor’s watchful eye, he’d sneak Felix off to let him cry himself out, passing him candied fruits or honeycomb, anything sweet to help calm Felix down. 

What wrong Felix, you can let it out. Talk to me please. You aren’t alone. Kind words played out steadily like the keys on a piano, gently plunking against Felix’s heartstrings with felted hammers. Glenn had a way of drawing out a song from Felix, a story he’d sympathize with and advise for next time. 

But now there was no brother to spoil him, however infrequent these moments might have been. This secret had lived with Glenn and it would die with him too. 

Felix didn’t need sweets anymore. And the key to his wound heart he’d buried with his dead. 

-x-

Garreg Mach Monastery was far from home. The Officer’s Academy, he had no interest in. It was a formality given his status and position. Felix Hugo Fraldarius, heir to the Dukedom of Fraldarius, bearer of a Major Crest, successor of the Shield of Faerghus- and a slew of other titles that were dumped on him; ones he’d never bothered to remember himself. Names that piled on and on like mounds of dirt that suffocated with their weight. 

But there would be strong opponents in that great stone monastery- and that was enough to pull him from the cold halls formally, but in his heart formerly, called home. 

-x-

He had a pact to keep with Sylvain. If he left that fool to his own devices, who knew what would happen to him. Tagging along in the same direction as Sylvain again, it left a dry taste in his mouth. But humans are creatures of habit. And Felix was undeniably mortal. 

So he fell into a routine, dodging the cathedral as often as he could and making a beeline towards the training grounds that his house seemed to inhabit more days than not. To the practice dummy that never hit back, he knew it was never a win or a loss. It felt like he was sparring an undefeatable foe- and he’d think of one such challenger that he had never managed to best, and now never could. That train of thought always managed to make his breathing more harsh, his lungs struggling to take in air even though he wasn’t out training in the frigid Fraldarius air. It always brought him back to a time when a younger version of himself had struggled to breathe. 

A softer version of himself used to cry at the drop of a hat. I don’t want to leave anyone behind he’d said, fearing that he’d make someone hurt as bad as he was hurting after that first great loss. 

And you don’t have to, a younger Sylvain had said, as if this was as simple as cherry pie. You and I, when you die I die. 

Felix remembers holding out a mittened hand to Sylvain, who took it in his gloved one, locking their childish promise in with a pinky swear. You can’t break those, Sylvain said. And this one constituted Sylvain’s right pinky and four of Felix’s fingers wound together solemnly. 

This is stupid, Felix said, nose and cheeks chapped against the elements, namely snow.

It’s too cold to take off your mittens Feli, Sylvain had explained. And besides, you know I wouldn’t break a promise to you. 

A promise that promised death to its bearers was a heavy one for such small shoulders to take. But every year, they’d renewed their vows. And that childish promise turned into something to trust. While Felix grew outwardly colder with each passing moon, that promise was warm enough to bring him back around. 

Shaking his head and returning to the present, Felix scowled, wondering why his head was wandering back to a day almost a decade past. Raising his practice sword up for another repetition, he brought it back down against the dummy that quietly took a beating it didn’t even ask for. 

-x-

Lighting and thunder are weapons of god, prancing from cloud to cloud across the burnt sky. But now he had it arcing across the palm of his hand, dancing from his core before he utters the spell Thoron to blast anything unfortunate enough to be set in his sights. 

He smells like the air before a crack of lightning, poised and waiting almost biting. He feels like the whistling wind between the trees, warm and brief calm inviting. It’s peaceful, that moment of quiet before a boom would rend and shred the space before him. And to the collection of satin scars littered across his skin, he adds a few more that etched white fractals to his arms.

-x-

Though he never felt like this was home either, the monastery was still where his friends, and the closest thing to family, were gathered. With that stronghold in ruins, in ones and twos they began to go where they were called. Ingrid back home at the request of Count Galatea, and Sylvain and Felix back north towards home. They traveled as far up with Ingrid as they could before crossing paths, promising to meet again in five years time. And perhaps to no one’s surprise, Ingrid drew them in a fierce hug, muttering that she’d run them through if either had the gall to die. 

Dimitri should have been privy to the threat as well, but he’d parted ways by the time they’d reached Charon. With Dedue at his side, they’d exchanged curt nods. Sylvain cuffing Dimitri’s shoulder and telling him the border by Sreng he could manage, as they’d always done. For that Dimitri had grunted, shrugging off the reassurance and sparing not even a wave before trudging off. 

A venom laced scoff of  _ Useless Boar _ died on Felix’s lips. There was no time to spare words on a wall that didn’t want to hear them. So he swallowed his fears down as his father had urged him. But then remembered how Glenn had taught him otherwise. 

Take care turned to Try not to get slaughtered. And Felix scoffed as he turned on his heel, marking decidedly  _ away _ from the beast. The exasperated sighs of Sylvain and Ingrid filled in the empty pause from Dimitri, yet they were still turned around to see how their prince halted for a moment before lifting his hand in a sign of farewell, well wishes, stay safe if you can. 

-x- 

War rages on even as bodies fall. More soldiers always got up to fill in the ranks but the empty spaces that those fallen soldiers left at home would never be replaced. Even as the lords of the land called on their people to rise to defend their home, years take their toll and their forces grow thinner with each setting moon. 

Felix, who is now older than his brother would ever be, still does not like horses. And now he is sure that they do not like him. No matter how hard he tries, his steeds still paw at the ground nervously, perhaps sensing his own discomfort or unnerved by the light weight on their backs. But he must make haste to arrive at the monastery in their promised five years reunion. The last thing he wants is to hear the teasing and friendly jeers of voices he’d not heard in too long. Or maybe, that’s exactly what he needed. 

He travels light, perhaps too light- and the cold chills him through as he races through the land, provisions rattling along the bottoms of saddlebags as barren as Galatea’s coffers, pushing onward to the south. Even as the weather grows scantily warmer, he still wishes he’d brought a heavier cloak or warmer furs. Or perhaps a more skilled rider to sit behind him and guide this four legged beast along its course. He can feel that their destination is but a rest stop away, and if not for the weary but determined state of the small force he’d brought with him, he’d have pushed on. 

Rolling into a familiar town at the foot of the monastery is a louder affair than he’d have thought it was. His ears can pick up the sound of another group settling, and though he knows that he should stop to check if they are foes, a familiar blaze of red spurs him on. 

Fortune favors the bold it seems. Bold synonymous with brash or reckless, which are words Sylvain uses to describe him when they run into each other’s parties. Fate thought it was funny to let the day meet the night, the vibrant tones of Sylvain’s hair soon overtaken by twilight the same shade as Felix’s own. It’s almost too dark to see one another, but Felix can just make out the shape of Sylvain as he dismounts, armor plates clanking as he raises an arm up for Felix to take. 

Oh so you’re a gentleman now, are the first words out of Felix’s mouth. He takes Sylvain’s hand all the same, sliding back to the earth and lightly squeezing that familiar hand before letting go. 

Letting go of one of the walls he’d built, Sylvain’s hand still in his while he crushes himself in a tight embrace, nevermind the stupid sharp ends of Sylvain’s armor digging against his chest. The satisfaction of stunning Sylvain into silence is enough to sate him, and he’s almost okay with the way Sylvain’s arm’s warp around him with an air of disbelief. The fur trim around Sylvain’s collar is maddeningly soft, and Felix closes his eyes, ignoring the way Sylvain tucks him under his chin. 

He is hungry and cold, but even before they duck into an inn to rest, even before they fill in the blanks over food and drink, and before they bicker and shove at each other as they nestle into a cramped bed for the night, holding Sylvain firm against his chest is enough to fill him to the brim. 

-x-

Life was just chapter after chapter of the same story passed from generation to generation. The halidom’s knights die the same way the knights in story books do. Needlessly and undoubtedly with fanfare to romanticize death in service. But death is not glorious. There are always people left to pick up the pieces left behind, people that stay and wonder why even now he was not the favored son. 

He has always been tired of the fables Fodland had to offer and feels his hands drenched red in the very fairy tales that he refused to read as a child. Felix wonders if Kyphon ever felt as miserable as he does now. 

-x-

Felix hates sweets. 

But he doesn’t refuse warm honeyed lips that press against his own, kind hands that brush away his fringe and make him feel for once in his life that he is loved above all else. 

-x-

Apologies can be heard but not accepted, acknowledged but not taken. Sincere but too late. Dimitri, with his single blue eye and hands curling towards his palms, returns to them. And what can they do but forgive him. 

But to the father whose last thoughts were on someone he looked to as a son, Felix had nothing to say. Dimitri at least had the decency to apologize. Felix will forgive him for that. As for the father who not once thought to make his amends, and now could not, Felix again buried his dead, tallying the count to two of his own blood that left him behind for the sake of another. 

But Felix can’t blame Dimitri for that. That wretched beast was sobbing tears that he himself couldn’t bring himself to shed just yet. At least he cried for them, cared for them. Felix, at least right now, could not say the same. 

As much as he’d mocked Dimitri for letting ghosts speak to him, he had his own. In not the demonic whispers that Dimitri heard against his ears. But rather, the friendly chide of his brother’s voice, old advice stuck in his head still trying beating a mantra into his mind. 

_ It’s not nice to call people beasts.  _

And Glenn, Glenn who is right even in death, urges Felix to brush off the lockbox in his chest and let himself feel again. So maybe Felix would not die for the sake of their prince. But he would fight at his side. This was a choice he made for himself; not because it was what his father would have wanted, not because it was the legacy his brother had left behind. It was because, though he could not voice it, deep down, Felix really did love Dimitri. 

-x-

Everything comes swirling to a halt when a glint of metal rests against the flesh of Dimitri’s shoulder. The last strike of Areadbhar claims two victims, one to his knees and one to her death. The professor, ever firm in resolution, leads their crestfallen king out of a quiet throne room and out towards the thunderous roar of a liberated kingdom. 

Felix watches, with sword in hand, as word spreads as quick as wildfire, towns and cities ablaze at the news. And Fodland’s cold winter breaks as new life is breathed into her abused land. 

Death is not glorious. There are always people left to pick up the pieces left behind, people that must rebuild what was broken. But before he starts waxing about death again, Felix thinks that he wants to live. 

Flicking his sword to cast off the red that stains the blade, he sheaths his companion against his hip and walks maybe a little too quickly find more pleasant company. 

And he finds it, leaning heavily against a pillar, blood splattered against his face and armor, too much to tell which is his and what isn’t. Feeling his voice about to rise and scream for a medic, Felix blindly shoved aside anything and everything that stood between him and the sun. Glove against armor, hand against face, he realized too late that Sylvain, that bastard, was fine. Worn out, but alive. Tired but grinning at the flustered look on Felix’s face. 

Infuriating. And he lets him know it, shoving at his chest hard enough to make the knight stumble and knock against the great stone column he was resting against, Lance of Ruin slipping from his grasp and making an ugly clank as it hit marbled floor. 

So not entirely okay, Felix realizes, and he’s almost sorry for it. But Sylvain doesn’t mind, and he raises his newly freed hands to press against Felix’s own, lacing their fingers together in an absurdly intimate way given that they were both high off adrenaline and fresh out of war. It’s stupid and he’s upset, glaring at Sylvain for having the audacity to be smiling as though nothing was wrong. 

One way or another I’ll end your bloodline he says to Sylvain, who just laughs and seals Felix’s mouth with his own. Just like Glenn said promises were made. 

-x-

Felix’s hair is like water, cool and easy to run your fingers through. Rifling around the soft white hills of Sylvain’s sheets, he held his hair in a smooth bunch in one hand while trying to figure out where his hair tie was.

He recalled a small  _ thwip _ the night before, probably the sound of Sylvain launching the elastic away with his finger and thumb. Scanning the ground, his eyes adjusted to the buttery glow creeping through a crack in the curtains into a room much neater than his own. 

Ah there, wait no, that’s a string-  _ oh for fuck’s sake _ . 

Grumbling to no one and himself, Felix sat up, only to be stopped midway by arms around his waist, a body rolling on top of his own to pin him down. He felt the empty chain that Sylvain wore around his neck cutting into his own collar, a large hand seeking out his hand and idly twirling the band, gold like ichor, that now fit snugly against his ring finger. 

Sylvain spoke to his neck, I’ll find it for you later, whatever it is. Don’t leave me just yet Felix. 

And Felix, who knows what it feels to be left behind, only huffs once, twice before carding his fingers through balmy red hair. Red like fire, warming his hands from fingertips to base, traveling up his arms and leaving his chest feeling oddly full. He ignores the upturned smirk against his skin, and thanks the godforsaken goddess that Sylvain can not see the smile mirrored on his own lips. 


End file.
